


a goblin in seth rollins' bed

by hupsoonheng



Series: it's a goddamn shield reunion [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Awkward Dates, Frottage, Hotel Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hupsoonheng/pseuds/hupsoonheng
Summary: post aug 14 rawnow that trust is restored, the shoe is on the other foot when dean is the one to ask seth out on a date. a fancy date, at olive garden. not that he calls it a date. not that he calls it trust, exactly. they both get a little emotional and a lot embarrassed and god i can't wait for summerslam





	a goblin in seth rollins' bed

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back and i've been paid with a meal again to write this

Dean hands off the menu he never even opened. "Fettucine Alfredo," he says, and when Seth nudges his boot under the table, he adds, "please." 

"Sounds like a plan," the server says, bright and cheery as she writes it down, and she turns to Seth. 

"The, uh, chicken marsala." Dean fidgets while Seth orders, drumming his fingers on the table top. "And two Stellas." 

"Oh, I love the marsala," the server says in that empty-happy kind of voice that tells Seth she's an old hand in the service industry. A little scary, considering she doesn't look a day over twenty. She finishes her scribbling with a flourish. "Back in a flash, guys!" 

"It's Olive Garden, there's nothing happening in a flash," Dean says once she's out of earshot. 

"Based on what? It's a fast food restaurant with fake stucco on the walls." Seth gestures at said stucco. "

"I dunno, I just wanted to say that." Dean goes from drumming his fingertips to drumming with his hands, and Seth reaches across the table to put his hands over both of them. "Hey." Dean's hands still flutter under his for a moment, then still. 

"What." Dean won't meet Seth's eyes. 

"Nothing. I'm just glad you're here." Seth can't help but grin as he says it. Everything feels good again after Monday night. 

"Shut the fuck up," Dean mutters, but he doesn't pull his hands away. "Cornball." 

"Hey, it was your idea." Seth lets go at last, sitting straight in his chair, but that grin won't go away. "You're kinda bashful about it, huh?" 

"It's not like we really did this back in the day, is it?" Dean laces his fingers together, wiggling them. "We just kind of did whatever." He shrugs. 

Seth can think of a million ways to keep pushing that, tease Dean until he pops. But he chooses mercy instead, and says, "Anyway, alfredo sauce? Really, Dean?" 

Dean shrugs again. "Who cares? I'm not a bottom." 

"And I am?" 

Dean looks at Seth and snorts. "That's not what I implied, but yeah, if that's what you took away." 

Seth is suddenly really interested in the bottom of his glass of water. 

It's not like they haven't been out at restaurants lately. But just like Sheamus said—it was Seth who picked up the check at Applebee's, and it was clear Dean was just in it for the free food, stoic for most of the meal. Now Dean rambles as he chugs his beer and slops pasta in his face, and Seth knows he's in trouble when he's charmed by the most mundane stories. No, he didn't know Dean had asked Elias if he could play any Pearl Jam. Yeah, that's pretty funny. 

This is a date. Honest to god. 

Seth points out that Dean has sauce on his face, and Dean wiggles his eyebrows. "Lick it off if it bothers you so much," he says, and Seth is so glad that the server chooses a few seconds later to arrive with the check. He can't cope with this. 

He reaches for his wallet, and Dean holds out a hand. "I, uh, I got this," Dean mutters, and when Seth keeps pulling his wallet out anyway, Dean grabs a napkin off a nearby table, spilling the silverware on top of it, and throws it in Seth's face. "I said I got this one." 

"I thought you'd get the knife off the table, honestly," Seth says as he drops the napkin on the table. 

"The napkin was closer." As if that makes any sense. But Dean fishes his credit card out of his wallet, slaps it down on the little tray with the check, and flags the server down to make sure she takes it away before Seth can interfere. Not that he was going to. 

Dean still does most of the talking on the drive back to Seth's hotel room; this week's show wasn't close enough to his apartment. It's still a lot of irrelevant shit, but it's way more than Seth's gotten in years, and he basks in it. 

The hotel room doesn't have an overhead light, just a couple lamps by the bed, and it lends a quieter feel to everything. Seth goes to the bed first while Dean locks the hotel room door, kicks his shoes off as he drops his body on top of the covers. 

"No shoes in the bed," Seth mumbles as Dean approaches, and he hears two thumps that sound like boots hitting the wall. Those'll be some fun scuff marks to clean off the wall in the morning. 

"There, no shoes in the fucking bed, Miss Manners," Dean says, before the bed creaks under his added weight. He lies next to Seth, smelling like the three beers he had at the restaurant, belly taut from all the pasta and pressed against Seth. He's warm and tired, and it makes him cuddly, though Dean would never use that word. It's nothing like the way Dean used to get down to the business of getting his dick sucked and leaving. 

Seth runs gentle fingers along Dean's hairline. He's lost more ground to baldness in the last three years. "You're really going bald, old man," Seth murmurs, pushing his fingers the rest of the way through his hair. 

Dean looks up, and touches where Seth's hairline has dipped farther back. Seth doesn't mean to flutter his eyelids at the touch, but it's such an unexpected tenderness he can't help it. "I don't wanna hear it from you," Dean says, tapping Seth's hairline. "And anyway, I'm not old. I'm in my prime." 

"Whatever you say." Seth twines his leg around Dean's, and Dean wraps an arm around Seth's waist, and it's unspoken comfort. 

"I'm glad," Seth says into Dean's thinning hair, "you trust me again." 

Dean is silent in response, and for a moment, Seth is afraid he's wrong. After all, Dean never said that word in the ring— _trust._ It was all in the gesture. Fists coming together in brotherhood, side by side as a symbol of strength. 

Dean pushes himself up, leaving Seth's side cold, and Seth swallows around that fear, knotting in his throat. But he doesn't leave; instead Seth finds himself looking up at Dean, propped up on straight arms to either side of Seth's neck. 

"In the ring?" Dean says, and it's quiet, voice smaller than it's been in a long time. "I don't know if it's trust yet. It's something pretty close to trust. But you gotta wait for me to say it." 

Seth turns his head, swallowing again. Yeah, he jumped the gun. Doesn't he know what they say about assumptions? 

Dean settles his weight along Seth's body, puts two fingers to Seth's chin to turn his face back up. "Here's different though." 

"Here?" Seth doesn't mean for it to come out as a croak. 

"You know," Dean snorts. "Here. Just us together in a room, in a bed. None of the shit. _Here._ I trust you here." 

Seth's heart wants to burst. Seth wants to—he doesn't even know. He can't let Dean know how much those words thrill him. Stymied for a reaction, all he can do is look up at Dean with steady eyes. 

"So much for being the architect," Dean says, as he leans down further, "who always knows what to say." 

"That's not what an architect does," Seth protests, but he doesn't get much more than that, because now he's being kissed. 

Dean doesn't kiss. That was true even before Seth double crossed his teammates; Dean only kissed when he was soused, and there were plenty of reasons not to reciprocate with a man that drunk. But Dean is barely tipsy, and this is sincere and soft. 

It doesn't last, though, and Seth can't help the noise of disappointment that chases after Dean's lips. Dean chuckles. 

"You like that one, huh?" 

"You're an asshole, Dean," Seth says, thumping the other man in the shoulder. "Don't fucking tease me." 

"I bet you always wanted that," Dean says, sitting back on his knees between Seth's legs. He pushes his hands under Seth's T-shirt, and his wrists shove the cotton up until Seth's chest is exposed. 

"Like I'm gonna tell you now," Seth says, biting back a gasp when Dean puts his mouth to a nipple. "I-if anything, I'm just gonna say I never did." 

"Whatever lies you gotta tell yourself, Rollins." Dean pats the side of Seth's ribs like a horse he's sending into a gallop, and Seth pops his shoulders up so Dean can pull his shirt off the rest of the way. Dean kisses him again when the collar clears his hair, and it's as much a surprise the second time, but this time Seth kisses back with fervor. 

"Man," Dean says when he breaks away this time, "you really _do_ like that." He rocks his thigh against Seth's groin, and Seth bites his kiss-swollen lip to keep from groaning. "Check out this boner." 

"Jesus, Dean!" Seth pins Dean between his knees, and for a moment he really considers turning it into a figure four somehow, just to fuck with Dean. "It's not gonna stay hard if you talk like that." 

"You say that," Dean says, unbothered enough by the knees holding him in place to start unzipping Seth's jeans, "but I know it's not true, because even if I say _boner_ I'm still gonna all the shit I know drives you wild." He pops the button, drags a single fingertip down the cotton-covered length of Seth's dick where it's still trapped by boxer-briefs. "You know, from experience." 

"Don't get me naked and keep your whole outfit on," Seth grumbles, albeit breathily from Dean's touches. 

"Don't tell me you like this." Dean sits up to pull his shirt off, and man, Seth's got a hairy chest, sure, but his hair lies flat against his skin. Dean's chest hair is a ginger bush across his pecs. From experience, as Dean puts it, Seth knows putting his mouth there is an agreement to spit out hair later, and he might as well blow Dean if he's gonna go through that. 

"I'm not saying I don't like it," Seth says, smirking as Dean flicks the shirt across the room. "But I am saying I'm not okay with being the only naked one in the room." 

"You're not even naked yet. Stop whining." Dean curls his fingers around the waistbands of both Seth's jeans and underwear, and yanks down until they clear Seth's ass. There's nothing sexy about the way they jam around Seth's ankles, with Dean struggling to pop them over Seth's heels and Seth trying to help without kicking him in the face. When he finally gets both garments free of Seth's legs, taking Seth's socks with them, Dean wads it all into a ball and hurls them hard enough to hit the wall. "Fuck that," he huffs, looking as offended as if he'd caught someone talking trash about him. 

"Can I whine now, since you still have pants on?" Seth scoffs. Mostly he's just trying to get over how vulnerable he feels being totally naked with Dean. He hasn't done that in years. All these past hookups have been shirts on and pants open but never down. 

"I don't feel like taking them off yet." Dean puts his hands on Seth's kneecaps, pushing them out to really splay Seth out and take him in. "Look at you, man. What a fucking specimen. Cock and all." 

Seth can't help but laugh, especially when he feels a blush coming on, and he slaps a hand over his eyes. "Don't say shit like that. Don't say the word cock, Dean, come the fuck on." 

"I'll say whatever I wanna say. I'll talk about this cock," Dean says, taking it in hand to rub precum around the head with his thumb, "as much as I want. What're you gonna do about it, Rollins? Hit me with a chair again?" 

That sobers Seth. He's still so goddamn sorry, and that much he lets show. 

Dean clears his throat. "I didn't mean it like that. You know that." But he lets go of Seth's erection, and traces lines from Seth's inner thighs to the insides of his knees. His fingers find the scar from Seth's knee surgery, and he rubs it thoughtfully. "We really are getting old, huh?" 

"Wrestlers age twice as fast as regular Joes, everyone knows that," Seth says. 

Dean puts a kiss to the surgery scar, and something tugs in Seth's gut. He blinks again and again, and suddenly there's fucking water in his eyes, literal tears welling up and waiting to spill. He doesn't know why, he doesn't goddamn know why Dean Ambrose treating a scar with such delicacy and affection is making him cry, and when he blinks again the tears escape his eyes and roll down his face. 

When Dean looks at him again Seth is quick to cover his face, but not quick enough—Dean saw. Dean can't do sappiness, he knows that, and there's no way this isn't going to be too much for Dean. 

"Hey." Dean's voice, coming closer, mattress shifting as he crawls up over Seth's body. "Seth. Come on." 

"Come on what." Seth says it through his hands, and Dean sighs as he pulls those hands away. 

"Dude, are you crying? Because of what I did?" 

"Don't," Seth says, wiping at his face with his forearm even as Dean keeps his hands trapped. "Leave it alone, Dean." 

"I'm not, like, inhuman, you know that, right?" Dean releases Seth's hands. "It's okay to..." He wriggles uncomfortably, totally at odds with what he's trying to say. "Feel stuff. You don't have to act so fucking tough for me." 

"I'm not crying, dumbass," Seth says, even as a long sniff says otherwise. 

"Yeah, okay, and I don't wear the same jeans two weeks straight before washing them," Dean snorts as he leans in. 

"Don't fucking kiss me after reminding me that you're disgusting," Seth retorts, but it's with a laugh, pushing at Dean's shoulders with the barest resistance before letting him back in. 

Dean kicks off his pants shortly afterward, which he says is because Seth's rutting against him made a wet spot on the front of his jeans and for no other reason. Seth says it's only fair he gets to take him in, too, and tells Dean he's got a twink body, which is only somewhat true but is enough to rile Dean up. 

Dean's got a single-use packet of lube in his back pocket, pilfered from god knows where. It's cold when he tears it open and squeezes it out onto Seth's dick, but it warms pretty quickly once Dean holds it against his own cock, thrusting into the tightness made by his fist. Dean wasn't lying when he said he remembered the stuff that drove Seth wild—he always fucking loved frotting, which is probably exactly why Dean wasn't giving him that until now. 

Dean kisses him again, deeper and sloppier with the rush of dick-to-dick contact, and as much as Seth wanted to draw this out, it's the kiss that sends him over the edge. Dean will make fun of him later—actually, probably in the next ten minutes—for being such a sap that kissing is what made him come, but in the moment he couldn't give a rat's ass, pumping desperately into Dean's hand as he rides out the orgasm. It makes a mess on both their bodies, and Dean must like that mess (of course he does) because it doesn't take him long to follow suit. 

When the afterglow fades, Seth is the one to roll out of bed and wet a washcloth, because there's no point in hoping Dean will be the one to want to clean up. He wipes down both their bellies, both soft dicks. Then he digs in his duffel until he pulls out clean shorts and hops into them. 

"I don't suppose you've got clean clothes in your car—" Seth starts, but when he looks back at the bed, Dean is asleep. He's an ugly sleeper, that's for sure, mouth slack and ready to catch flies. He's also taking up most of the space, so Seth doesn't feel even a little bit bad when he shoves Dean over to get under the covers. Dean will wake up cold eventually, find his way into the sheets at two or three in the morning; it'll work itself out. 

Things will be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> happy summerslam yall


End file.
